


don't forget, it's the first day of school

by Granspn



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: Gen, listen. i'm soft for hawkeye and i just think he's neat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:53:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25141951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Granspn/pseuds/Granspn
Summary: just some thoughts on Hawk’s first day and the effect he has on the camp that I had to get out of my head"He boarded an army bus in New York which took him to an army plane in New Somewhere which took him to an army plane in San Francisco which took him to an army plane in Honolulu which took him to an army jeep at Kimpo which took him to the 4077th mobile army surgical hospital. That seemed like a lot of mobile army surgical hospitals. The guy that drove him there was just a kid."
Comments: 8
Kudos: 48





	don't forget, it's the first day of school

1950, Korea

A Hundred and Fifty Years Ago

Hawkeye was wearing an army uniform. He was shipping out. Into the _army_. What the hell was he doing shipping out into the army? His hands shook as he did up his tie (a brown tie?) and didn’t recognize himself in the mirror. If it had been anyone else maybe he would have thought he looked handsome. He just looked like he was going to be sick. The whole thing had been like a crazed fever dream.

From being interrogated by the draft board:

“Do you now, or have you ever associated with communists?”

“Oh, uh, I don’t know. My roommates and I in college agreed to share out all our chores equally, does that count?”

And, “Are you now, or have you ever been a homosexual?”

“Well, not exclusively, no. Why, have you? I won’t tell if you won’t.” 

And of course, “Is there any valid medical reason why you should be exempt from service in this man’s army?”

“Yeah, I’m a doctor!” 

To basic training in Virginia:

“You will _salute_ whenever you see a superior officer, understand?”

“Sure, I understand fine, but how will I know he’s superior?”

“You see these, soldier?” The officer said, brandishing the insignia on his collar. 

“How do I know those are legitimate? Apparently you could’ve acquired them on the black market.”

“I’ve had about enough of your back-talk. How does twenty push ups sound?”

“Sorry, I don’t believe in corporal punishment. Besides, I could just pull rank on him.” 

To getting orders in the mail that he was due in a South Korean province that he could spell about as far as he could throw it. The only foreign country he’d ever been to before was Canada, and that was by accident after a wrong turn one night driving in the dark. Nevertheless, he boarded an army bus in New York which took him to an army plane in New Somewhere which took him to an army plane in San Francisco which took him to an army plane in Honolulu which took him to an army jeep at Kimpo which took him to the 4077th mobile army surgical hospital. That seemed like a lot of mobile army surgical hospitals. The guy that drove him there was just a kid.

“Sorry, I’d give you a tip but I left my humanity in my other pants.” 

“Yes, sir. Have a good rest of your day, Captain.”

Hawkeye muttered to himself as he watched the jeep speed off, “Captain, what captain? Oh, me captain. Huh.” 

“Oh, uh, excuse me, sir?” A voice said from behind him. He’d though the driver was a kid. This guy was just a kid. Jesus, he could have been eighteen, nineteen at the most. Jesus, Jesus, Jesus. He looked uncomfortable, like his uniform was stiff. Buttoned up all the way to the top, it might as well have been cutting off his circulation. He peered up through smudged wire rimmed glasses. 

“Hey, how are ya?” Hawkeye said, offering a handshake. 

“Corporal O’Reilly, company clerk, sir!” He said, issuing a salute alongside. Perhaps responding to the shocked expression Hawkeye must have been wearing, he went on, “Uh, but some folks call me Radar on account of I can sometimes tell when things are gonna happen before they do.” 

“Okay, Radar. Uh, Doctor Pierce. But some folks call me Hawkeye on account of that’s my nickname. Also I think you’ll find I said how are you, not who are you.” 

“Oh, uh, sir, yes, sir, I’m fine, sir, how’s yourself, sir, sir?” 

“Please, call me Hawkeye. Sir sir was my father.” 

“Oh, uh, yes, sir, Hawkeye, sir.”

Hawkeye sighed. “Right.” 

“If you come this way I can show you the way to your tent, and once you get all settled in, sir, you should come and report to the commanding officer around here, that’s C.O. for short, that’s Colonel Henry Blake, sir, and he’s been waiting for you and the other doctors so he should be mighty pleased now you’re here and everything, sir.” 

The place was decrepit. It should be impossible for a place that’s literally brand new to look run down, but then again, a lot of things going on at the moment should have been impossible. If there’s one thing that should be permanent, a constant fixture in a community, it’s a hospital, and if there’s one thing this place wasn’t it was permanent. 

“So,” Hawkeye asked as Radar guided him around the camp, “this place is pretty military, huh?” 

“Oh, uh, yes and no, sir. The no, sir is mostly on account of Colonel Blake who very much wishes he was back at his practice in the states and the yes is very much on account of Major Burns, sir, that’s one of your bunkmates.” 

“Right. Well, you can cut that army stuff out when you’re with me, okay? I was drafted same as you and I’m in a real hurry to forget about this whole thing and head home, got that?”

“Uh, yes, sir, got that, sir.” 

“Well, we can work on it.” 

“Yes sir, here’s your tent, sir.” 

Jesus, this place was a real swamp. Another man, who must have been Major Burns, was in bed thumbing through a book in full army fatigues, but he came to attention when Radar led Hawkeye through the door. 

“Uh, Captain Pierce, this is Major Frank Burns,” Radar said.

“Hi there, I’m Hawkeye,” he said, offering another handshake.

“You are supposed to salute when greeting a superior officer, _Captain_.”

“Oh, sorry, Frank, but I don’t believe in the military. In fact, I think I might be dreaming right now. Some dream, huh?”

“Don’t believe in the military, eh? What are you, some kind of commie?”

“Uh, Frank, in case you haven’t noticed, the communists have militaries, too. I think that might be why we’re here.” 

“Wise guy, huh?”

“Who, me?”

Frank ignored him. “Corporal, what are you still doing here?”

“What? Nothing, sir. Leaving, sir!” Radar said, and narrowly avoided smacking himself in the face with the door as he did. 

“Jeez, take it easy on him, would ya? Can’t you see he’s just a kid.” 

“Don’t tell me what to do, Captain. He’s in Uncle Sam’s army same as you and me.”

“Unwillingly, then.” 

“Hey, I don’t know about you but I’m proud to be here.”

“Yeah? Well I’m not. There, now you know.” Frank made an indignant sort of huffing noise and sat back down on his bed. 

“What kind of name is Hawkeye, anyway?”

“It’s from _The Last of the Mohicans_.” _Make nice, Hawk, make nice._ “It’s my dad’s favorite book _._ You can borrow my copy sometime, if you’re interested.” 

“Ha! As if. I won’t have the time to just sit around and read books about the Indians.” Okay, if that’s the way it is, don’t make nice. Hawkeye unpacked his duffel in silence. He took a lukewarm shower and thought about all the empty space in the back of the bunk and wondered what the other doctors would be like. He remembered in the back of his mind that he was supposed to report to the commanding officer as soon as possible and decided not to, just to see what would happen. And if he got discharged for insubordination on his very first day? It’s not as if it would exactly surprise his father. 

When he got back to his tent, Frank was writing a letter and giggling eerily to himself every so often. Was it really that eerie, or did Hawkeye just find him creepy for not being disgusted by being here in the first place? And not at the conditions, though those weren’t exactly a bed of roses, but at the whole package. At the war. Wearing just his robe, his hair dripping on the dusty floor, he stared at the folded pile of uniform presenting itself on the foot of his bed. 

“That’s too bad, green was never really my color,” he said aloud, but Frank didn’t hear, or if he did, he didn’t dignify it with a response. Donning the uniform, Hawkeye realized he didn’t bring any civilian clothes with him. They tell you not to, of course, but when had that stopped him before? He’d been in such a daze of disbelief, and further disbelief at being the only one who seemed to be in such a daze of disbelief that he’d forgotten that he didn’t care about following orders. Still, he resolved that at the first possible opportunity or perhaps earlier he would find a way to get some real clothes. For the moment, though, he found himself starting to button his thick, olive green over-shirt. But he stopped himself. He did up the cuffs and looked at himself in the small mirror hanging from a loose hook in the tentpole. Almost like a person. His eyes were drawn to the glinting around his collar. The dog tags… The dog tags could stay, Hawkeye figured. He didn’t want to be in some kind of emergency and get caught with his blood type down. He tried sticking them down his shirt but the cool metal startled him and besides, he didn’t want them down there as a constant reminder that he was nothing more than a string of numbers anymore. 

“But this can go for a start,” he said, unpinning his dual captain’s bars and placing them on top of a cubby. Moving to the left side, his fingers hovered over the caduceus. He was still a doctor, after all. Before he made his mind up, Frank made it up for him.

“What exactly do you think you’re doing?” He all but barked. 

“Trying to look like a person, Frank! I want to recognize myself when I look in the mirror, for Chrissakes,” he said, violently undoing his second pin and slamming it down next to the first. 

“That’s against regulation!” Frank called after him, but he was already out the door. Where to, he didn’t know, but he had to get away from that guy before things got ugly. Avoiding the C.O.’s office out of principle, he made for the mess tent. _Officers’ Mess_ , it said. He peered around the camp, looking for anywhere else serving food. He wondered where the enlisted men ate. He realized he hadn’t eaten since he’d been in the states. He realized he never even ate the bagel he bought before getting on the bus, and that it must be melting somewhere in the bottom of his duffel bag, smearing cream cheese over his extra socks. 

He got his tray filled with a little bit of everything which turned out to be a whole lot of unidentifiable something. Hesitantly, he sniffed each bite before even more hesitantly eating it until he was jolted from his reverie by a soft-spoken voice.

“Excuse me, I don’t think we’ve met before.” Hawkeye looked up to see who must have been the camp chaplain. Either that or he was certifiable. In a moment of weakness Hawkeye prayed, however ironically, that the cross around the man’s neck did signify his ordained role and not simply his devotion to the lord.

“Well, I haven’t met hardly anyone, I’m new in town. Hawkeye Pierce, I’m the newest surgeon.” Once again, he offered a handshake. 

“I’m Father Mulcahy,” the man said, placing down his tray gently across from Hawkeye and shaking his hand in both of his, “the camp chaplain.” 

“Ah,” Hawkeye said, unable to control the smile he felt spreading across his face. It’s wasn’t that he cared about receiving religious council, he wasn’t even sure there was a God, but it was refreshing as hell (sorry Father) to be treated like a person instead of a soldier. To be greeted more like a man and less like a dog. “It’s very good to meet you, Father.”

“And you as well, my son.” He said down opposite Hawkeye and said a short, quiet grace over his own food. Unlike Radar, his eyeglasses were clean, and his eyes peered over at Hawkeye in kindness and curiosity. He didn’t want to, but he worried he’d intimidated Radar. He made a personal goal to rectify that. But first, into the confessional. 

“Say, Father, does this food really make you feel particularly grateful?”

“Well…” he started noncommittally, “I can certainly give thanks that it isn’t any worse.”

“Maybe you can. I might wait until the big man upstairs delivers a little more before I start throwing grace around willy-nilly.”

“Yes, well. It is times like these when I understand how some _lesser_ men may come to question their faith,” the Father said with a twinkle in his eye. 

“Yeah, well I’ll certainly be a little less man when this all comes up later tonight along with a stretch of small intestine.” 

At that, Father Mulcahy actually smiled. And he chuckled. It wasn’t raucous laughter or anything, peals on the floor, but who needs that? A month of going nigh on unacknowledged can give a man anxiety, especially one who derives so much of his self worth from his sense of humor, Hawkeye knew that. There was more curative power for him in that one moment of joy that in all the units of penicillin Hawkeye had ever administered. And who would have guessed? That aside from one other doctor in basic training, that John McSomething, that the priest would be the first person to laugh at any of his jokes in six weeks. At least if he was never going to see Dr. McSomething again, the Father would be kind enough to give him a hoot.

“Oh, excuse me, Colonel Blake!” Mulcahy called out towards the food line, “Why don’t you come over here and meet your newest arrival?” He implored, still smiling. A tall man in a fishing hat and vest with bags under his bags under his eyes and a five o’clock shadow that looked a couple hours late came over and stood at the edge of their table.

“Hi there, I’m Lieutenant Henry Colonel Blake, I mean I um, I’m Henry Blake, Lieutenant Colonel, I mean uh, well I mean you must be Doctor P–”

“Hiya, Henry, I’m Hawkeye.” He offered a handshake, which the colonel tried to take while still holding his tray, causing him to spill something resembling baked beans across both his and Hawkeye’s arms and into the Father’s corn. On the plus side, it wasn’t very military of him. 

“Hawkeye. Say, what kind of name is–”

“Henry, is there any particular reason this mess tent is for officers only?”

“Oh, uh, well, no, I–”

“Great, I think the enlisted men should eat in here, too. Like if this was a real hospital, if we were in the real world, it’s not like there’s a separate cafeteria for the doctors and the orderlies, you know?” 

“I think that’s a splendid idea, Hawkeye,” Father Mulcahy said. 

“Thank you, Father. I, uh…” he looked next to him at the Father’s idly smiling face, looking benevolent by default, and felt almost grounded, if only for a moment. “I like you already.”

“Oh, well, thank you!” He said, sounding completely genuine, sounding completely miraculous. “I like you, too, Hawkeye!” 

“Um, Doctor Pierce, I–” Colonel Blake started again.

“So, whaddaya say, Henry? Enlisted men eat in here, too?”

“Oh, uh, well, sure, I don’t see any reason why not to, no, so–”

“Great, Henry, thanks. I’ll fix the sign just as soon as I finish dinner. That is unless dinner finishes me first.” At that, the chaplain laughed again.

“You’re a funny young man, Hawkeye,” he said, clapping him on the shoulder before standing and clearing his tray, “Come by anytime you’d like a word; my tent is always open.” He fixed him with another warm smile and floated through the doors of the mess tent onto whatever otherworldly business a hospital chaplain has to get to in the middle of a war. 

After he watched Mulcahy leave, he ditched his own dinner and headed toward the front office, not intending to see Henry, but instead hoping that wherever you could find a C.O., his company clerk wasn't far behind. Luckily, he seemed to be developing good instincts for that sort of thing, which made him want to claw his brain out through his ears, but he figured he could put that off until tomorrow. At least then the mess tent sign would be fixed.

“Hey, Radar,” Hawkeye said, finding him, as he suspected, in the room adjoined to Henry's office. 

“Sir, yes, sir!” He said, rising to attention.

“I’m serious, don’t ever salute me again or I’ll have you court martialed.” 

“Oh, uh, yes, sir, sorry, sir.”

“That’s okay, Radar.”

“You’re not wearing your captain’s bars, sir?”

“Well, I don’t feel like a soldier. I’d rather not look like one, either.” 

“Huh. I guess I don’t really feel like a soldier neither.” 

That’s ‘cause you’re not a soldier. You’re just a little kid. 

But instead Hawkeye said, “Anywhere I can get some paint and a ladder around here?”

Radar directed him to the supply tent and thirty minutes later found himself perched by the entrance to the Mess, painting _Enlisted Men Welcome_ above the nailed on sign. At the same time, an announcement played over the PA system.

“Attention all personnel: as of 18:00 hours today, thanks to a personal initiative from Captain Benjamin Franklin Pierce, enlisted men may now eat in the officers’ mess tent, and vice versa. Bon appetit, sirs and soldiers!” 

“How’s that for a first impression?” He said aloud to himself, wiping off his paintbrush and climbing back down to ground level. He felt a tap on his back and saw fishing lures out of the corner of his eye.

“Wow, I finally know what it’s like to be a trout.”

“What?” Colonel Blake said, when Hawkeye turned to face him.

“Nothing important.”

“Oh, okay. Just wanted to let you know to come by my office at noon, at, sorry, oh-twelve-hundred hours tomorrow for a staff meeting in my office. Our last surgeon should be here by then, and the head nurse, so once the full company’s here we’ll all get together and spend some time in each other’s company and talk about how best to run the company.” 

“That’s great, Henry. I’m great company.” 

“Oh. Well, great! I’ll see you there, Pierce, bright and early. Well, bright and twelve o’clock anyway.” And he ambled off into the night. Hawkeye figured he must at least be a competent surgeon because he looked like he’d forget his hair if it wan’t pinned to his head by a thousand lures. 

By the time Hawkeye deposited his art supplies back where they came from and made his way back to his tent after getting lost twice and wandering so far afield he’d be surprised if he hadn’t been in North Korea, night had fallen in earnest. Frank was already asleep with his blanket pulled up to his ears, and despite his better judgment, Hawkeye tried his best to be quiet and not disturb him. Then he realized he didn’t have anything to sleep in. He constructed a mental shopping list: 

_Pajamas (1)_

_Shirt (1)_

_Hat (1)_

_Authentic Japanese Kimono (1)_

_Korean-English dictionary (1)_

_Cards (52)_

_Book about anything other than war (as many as possible)_

_My sanity back (if it was ever there)_

_Plane ticket home (however many people are here)_

_Peace (1) (2 if you count both Koreas)_

He recited it over and over in his head like a mantra until he fell asleep, dreamt about Bellevue Hospital, and he woke up in the morning still chanting. He added “snacks” after “cards” and kept thinking it, as if that would be enough to make it manifest before him. He left the tent dressed the same as the night before. Exactly the same, since he’d slept in his clothes. At breakfast he saw Radar, wearing his uniform unbuttoned over his off duty t-shirt, with a flimsy wool cap resting on his head. 

“Oh, good morning, Hawkeye, sir!” 

“Promise?’

“Huh?”

“Good morning, Radar.” And they sat down and ate breakfast together. The food was unbearable. But maybe the company was okay. 

**Author's Note:**

> I have some more snippets and moments rattling around in my brain if ppl like this one so let me know what you think!


End file.
